


Beware the Friendly Stranger

by sas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV Show)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cora Backstory Headcanon, Dancing, Explicit Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Mild Smut, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slight OOC Cora, Stiles's Hands, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sas/pseuds/sas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She shoots him a look that wasn’t angry, but was definitely dark. “I was a bad, bad girl, Stiles.”</p><p>In which Stiles in shocked by where and how Cora spent her time after the fire, and they spend some time getting to know each other.</p><p>Mature for explicit drug use and mild smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone. This is the first thing I've posted in years. I've had this particular idea bouncing around for ages, so I thought I would finally post it. A few things:
> 
> -I do not/this fic does not condone or condemn recreation drug use. Also, some of Cora's practices are somewhat reckless here, so if you are going to use MDMA please don't use this as any kind of guide, and be safe.  
> -The title is the title of a Boards of Canada song. You should go listen to them.  
> -This is un-beta'd, so if you notice anything, just let me know. I'm Irish, so there are some differences in spelling and that.  
> -This is supposed to take place somewhere between 3x06 and 3x12.
> 
> I'm on tumblr, at tepidwaterdialogues, if you're interested.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

He knew he was watching her again, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t watching her for anything in particular, just watching with a benign curiosity. He saw flashes of Derek sometimes, even flashes of Peter. He knew her poker face well, she wore it a lot. They had spent a lot of time at the loft, just waiting. Occasionally she would get flashes that he couldn’t place: flashes of danger and mystery and something that was so unlike the Cora he had come to know that it unsettled him slightly.  
  
“What?” she sighs, rolling her eyes. Derek. Peter. Definitely Cora.  
  
“What what?” Stiles chokes.  
  
“You were staring. You weren’t even trying to hide the fact that you were staring.”  
  
“I wasn’t— I wasn’t staring at you. I was just staring into space. I’m just sick of waiting around. I’m bored.”  
  
He looks over her face. Her eyebrow tweaks upwards slightly, but otherwise her poker face is solid.  
  
“Do you wanna get high?”  
  
“Wh-What? Like, here? With you?” He and Scott had found that if Scott pulled off a pipe enough, pot would do a lot better of a job than alcohol did because it entered the bloodstream so much quicker, therefore, the heightened metabolism could suck it. As long as they had a big enough bag and kept hitting the pipe, they could stay high. And Stiles being such a good friend, he wouldn’t let his best friend get high alone. But he also knew every time Scott turned up to pack meetings smelling like pot, Derek would wrinkle his nose and make a snarky comment. He didn’t know if lighting up in his loft was the best idea. But Cora is staring at him, her eyebrow raised in earnest now, waiting for his answer. “Aw, screw it. Come on.”  
  
Cora turns on her heel and walks toward the steel staircase, arms folded across her chest. Stiles, still a little unsure, jogs a little after her. He had never seen the upstairs of the loft, let alone Cora’s room. He’s surprised to find it so at odds with the rest of the place. She flicks a switch beside the door and hundreds of fairy lights dotted across the walls illuminate a small, but cosy, space covered in blankets and pillows—so many that Stiles has a hard time locating her bed. Cora busies herself at a dresser drawer while Stiles flops down on what looks like the biggest pile. Cora stands beside him, placing a mirror down between them. She drops a small black box and a baggie on top. Stiles stares.  
  
“Is that—?”  
  
Cora pulls all her hair to one side, over her shoulder. She drops down gracefully.  
  
“It’s MDMA.”  
  
“I thought we were going to smoke some pot.”  
  
“Ew. That stuff fucking stinks. And it makes you stupid and sleepy. I want to roll. You don’t have to.”  
  
Stiles chews his lip. He had never really thought about it: about what it would be like to try any drugs harder than pot. Especially with someone he barely knows.  
  
“I didn’t think you would even be able to get high off MDMA, with the increased metabolism,” he muses, more to himself.  
  
“Not really of the Sass-based Molly, but the artificial stuff is a great high. Especially if you rail it and keep bumping.”  
  
“Wow. I don’t really understand most of what you just said.”  
  
“Lab-made drugs effect werewolves because our bodies don’t know how to break them down. Plus if you snort it, it enters your bloodstream way faster. If you take it often, you stay high.”  
  
“Oh. Like Scott with getting high off the pipe.”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
He was watching her hands now. She had taken a small scales out of the black box and was weighing out a small dose of the greyish powder. He decides not to say anything for a minute, and think about what was being offered here. Cora Hale, who had, before now, barely spoken ten words to him, was showing him a side to her that he doesn’t think she would let anyone else see. She was spilling the required amount out onto the mirror and covering it with a ten dollar bill. He wonders idly where she learned this.  
  
“Give me a credit card.”  
  
“Huh?” She had snapped him from his train of thought, “Oh. Credit card. Right.” He fumbles for his wallet, pulling out his Mastercard. He lays it on the mirror, hoping his hands won’t shake.  
  
She scrapes the card over the note several times, stopping occasionally to pull any clumps off the note. Then she uses the card to scrape the powder into lines. With the note rolled up, she pauses.  
  
“Do you want to get high, or no?”  
  
He looks at her face: the way the fairy lights lit it, the way her dark brown eyes were shining in anticipation, the way her lips were slightly parted. He looks at the rolled up note in her hand. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. Cora. Getting high with Cora. Here. In her room.  
  
“Yeah. You first, though.”  
  
Then she smiled. Not that tight smile she often gave him. A real, all-encompassing smile and my god, Stiles thought, was it fantastic.  
  
She leans over the mirror and snorts half a line, holding the note in her right nostril. Sitting back on her heels, she continues she suck hard through her nose. She looks at Stiles before leaning back down and finishing the line with the note held in her left nostril.  
  
Stiles tries to copy her, with Cora snapping commands in his ear. He was ready for her to be bossy. What he is not ready for was the almighty burn of the powder going up into his nasal passages. Cora scoffs when Stiles scrunches up his face in pain. Then he lays back and waits. She lies back, facing the opposite direction, looking at the wall.  
  
“You’ll get drip in a minute, just keep swallowing hard.”  
  
“Heh.”  
  
“Shut up, Stiles.”  
  
“What’s drip?”  
  
“You’ll feel it dripping down your throat.”  
  
“This is all very sexual.”  
  
“You’re such a child.”  
  
“I know you are, but what I am.”  
  
He could feel her rolling her eyes, and felt the overwhelming urge to giggle. Warmth was spreading across his chest. He could feel it radiating through his limbs and crashing outwards in waves. He feels like rolling around the bed so he could just _feel_ it against his skin. He wants to touch Cora’s skin, her face, her hair. He wants to cuddle her, and to dance. He really wants to listen to music.  
  
“Cora.”  
  
“Yes, Stiles?”  
  
“I think I’m high.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
She sits up, looks at him, and smiles. Then he does giggle. And she’s giggling with him. She giggles so hard she falls forward so her head was beside his and they’re laughing together.  
  
“It’s good, right?” she sighs, looking up at him through her lashes.  
  
“So good,” he breathes. He watches her eyes close as his breath hits her face. “Where did you learn about this stuff? I mean, when did you start?”  
  
“When I left Beacon Hills.” He knows she means after the fire. “I lived in LA for a while. There was a big party scene there. I was hurting, you know? I couldn’t drink, so I needed something else. The people I lived with, that I hung around with, the pack I started running with, they were all into a whole lot of drugs—coke, pot, speed, mephadrone, Molly.”  
  
“I can’t imagine you in LA, all spike heel and nightclubs and doing lines in bathrooms.”  
  
She shoots him a look that wasn’t angry, but was definitely dark. “I was a bad, bad girl, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles swallows hard now. Really, really hard, trying to get his heart from his throat back into his chest. Breathe, Stilinski. “So why stick to MDMA?” His voice only shakes a little. She pretends not to notice, but she can’t fight the smirk.  
  
“I just love Molly. I like how happy and powerful it makes me feel. And how close to other people.”  
  
“Colour me surprised.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“You’ve just never seemed very open.”  
  
“I’m being open now.”  
  
“Am I the colour of surprise?”  
  
She rolls over on her stomach, “Time for another line, I think.”  
  
Kicking himself, he sits up. He hopes it will sting less. It doesn’t. It stings less the third time. Then, there are prisms of light all over everything and his sting tingles in the most delicious way when it touches the soft blanket behind him. He pulls it over to his face.  
  
“I love this blanket. This blanket—it’s my favourite thing to ever happen to the world.” He nuzzles the blanket, rolling onto his stomach so he can faceplant into the furry surface. Cora laughs and he feels her shift. Then he hears a click. When he looks up, he sees that her phone is held in front of her, aimed at where his face is held against the soft fur.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“What? It was cute,” she shrugs. Stiles feels himself blush, and pushes his face back into the blanket to hide it from Cora.  
“Can we put on some music?” Stiles asks, turning back onto his side to face Cora. Suddenly he’s worried she’ll have to get up. This is the closest she’s been to him all. Their legs are touching. She’s lying on her back, facing the ceiling. She turns over, reaching behind her and grabbing her laptop. A Macbook. He’s not surprised. She puts Boards of Canada. Stiles feels like he’s melting into the pile of blankets. This would be perfect if he wasn’t so freaking warm.  
  
“Is it normal to feel this warm?”  
  
“Pretty much. Just take your shirt off.”  
  
Take his shirt off? He barely takes his shirt off in front of Scott. It’s not like he’s got a bad body or anything. He just feels a little weird taking his clothes off in front of other people.  
  
“Stiles, I can practically feel you radiate awkward. God, if it helps, I’ll take mine off. I’m crazy warm, too.”  
  
Stiles balks. She sits up and peels off her tank top. She’s wearing a black sports bra underneath. The lines of her body are obscene. Stiles _is_ staring now. Stiles props himself up and pulls his shirt over his head. Cora smirks, “And here I was thinking you were some skinny little kid.” She reaches out and presses the pads of her fingers to Stiles’s abs. Stiles looks up at her, and sees the tip of her tongue is darting back into her mouth. Her bottom lip is glistening in the glow of the fairy lights.  
  
“Another?” Stiles feels it come out as a whisper, and shakes his head, embarrassed. Cora nods; she shifts, turning her body again. Her legs press tighter against Stiles. She brings the baggie between them and reaches in with her right index finger and scoops out a small pile on her nail. With her left hand, her holds her left nostril. She holds her nail under her right nostril and inhales. She shakes her head, and smiles up at Stiles. His breath hitches. She scoots a little closer to him. She reaches into the bag again, pulling out another bump. She holds his left nostril, holds her finger under his right. He looks at her and she’s haloed by prisms of light and he inhales. He thinks this might be the best night of his life.  
  
Then she cuddles into his chest.  
  
“Jesus, Stilinski. Your heart might actually explode soon.”  
  
“Have you seen yourself, Hale? You’re fucking beautiful. I can’t help it.”  
  
She pulls back and looks at him, then cuddles back into him. The sting of the Molly going up his nose is nothing compared to the shock of what happens next. Cora attachs her lips to his neck. Softly. It sends shivers through his whole body. It feels better than any other sensation he had every felt. Again and again. Then she licks a strip up his neck and waves rolls through him. He doesn’t know if it’s Cora or the MDMA or both but it feels like heaven. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her small and strong body toward him, flush against him; he cups her chin, tilts her face up toward him and her mouth is on his and it’s soft and warm and there are prisms everywhere.  
  
Her warm hands on his arms pull goosebumps from his core, and when they snake up his hair a low moan rumbles out of his throat.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispers, pulling back. She has stars in her eyes, her pupils blown out from stimulants or from Stiles, or from both.  
  
“For what, you goon?”  
  
“For kissing you, I think. Or for moaning. I’m not really sure.”  
  
“I kissed you too. I wanted to kiss you.”  
  
“Yeah, but did you want to kiss me because you wanted to kiss me, or did you want to kiss me because we’re high?”  
  
“I don’t know, Stiles,” she sighed heavily, pushing her hair back, “does it matter? It was good. Now shut up and get back here.” She puts her hand on his collarbone, pushing her leg in between his. His body is at odd with his minds and he is straining against his jeans. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to.  
  
“Just…”  
  
Cora is shuffling closer again, nosing against his neck, licking the line of his jaw.  
  
“Cora, for fuck sake, just wait…”  
  
Her teeth are on his ear, and a wave is crashing right behind his breastplate and he wants to scream.  
  
“Cora!” He grabs her hands, but she is sucking on the delicate skin just behind his ear. He pulls his head away.  
  
“Okay, jeez. What?”  
  
“Tell me something. One real thing.”  
  
Cora looks down between them, where Stiles is holding her hands in his.  
  
“Your hands.”  
  
“My hands? What about my hands?”  
  
“Your hands are like, the sexiest thing. I think it’s weird that I find them so attractive, but I do.”  
  
“These skinny guys?” he smiles, holding them up to the light and wiggling his long, thin fingers. She bats them away, and covers her face. “Shut up, Stiles. Yes, your hands.”  
  
“That’ll do.”  
  
Then they’re kissing again. One of Stiles’s hand twists in Cora’s hair while the other dances over her stomach. Cora’s rest on Stiles’s collarbone, rubbing small circles with her nails. Hours pass that way, and both of them are happy for it not to progress any further, but to be just wrapped in the warmth of the drugs, of the prisms and each other.  
  
Stiles was sure this was the best night of his life.  
  
They fall asleep that way, wrapped in each other. When Stiles wakes up, his jaw is aching, his limbs are weak and his mouth is dry. Cora looks pale, and cold. He realises that he is still not wearing a shirt. He quickly pulls it on before she stirs, and lies back down beside her; pulling the covers over them, he lays his head in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just the two of them in the loft. He was sprawled out on the couch, thinking. Waiting. She was pacing. She was pacing for so long that he barely realised when she stopped. 
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck. This. Shit.” 
> 
> or
> 
> Round Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had an idea of adding two more one-shot-like chapters. They follow a similar theme to the first: drugs and heavy petting. Because body lines.

When Stiles woke back up, he realised that the warmth he had first awoken to was absent. Sun burning his eyes, he takes the time to check the rest of the room. Cora was gone. He pulls himself out from under the blanket, feeling better for the extra hour sleep. His jaw hurts less, his head is a little less foggy. Stealing a quick glance in the mirror that had been replaced on Cora’s dresser, he sighs and walks out of the room, down the spiral staircase and into the loft proper. Cora is doing push-ups, her headphones in her ears. Stiles walks in front of her, trying to get her attention. As soon as her eyes lock with his, he can feel the blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks.

 

“Hey.” It comes out slightly higher than he had hoped, and he mentally kicks himself.

 

“Hi?”

 

“How’re you feeling? I felt pretty shitty when I woke up this morning, but then I went back asleep and I feel way better now. Sure beats the last hangover I had.” He can feel her watching him.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Her abrupt answers hit him like a palm to the chest. He didn’t really know what he had expected, but he didn’t expect everything to just go back to the way it had been. He had not expected her to act so cold.

 

“Right. Cool. So, I had a lot of fun last night.”

 

“Can we just not? Talk about it, I mean. Let’s just get back to you staring at me while we sit around like the defenceless puppies of the pack.”

 

“Wow. Seriously?”

 

“Yes, Stiles, seriously. And if you ever breathe a word of anything I told you last to anyone, including Derek, I’ll--”

 

“Rip my throat out?”

 

Her head snaps forward, in a curt sort of nod. Stiles can feel the anger rise up in his stomach. He fights to push it back down. Her face is unmoving. Poker face. She rolls her eyes and the amount of Hale in the gesture makes him wonder if the previous night had actually really happened.

 

“Derek said they’d be back here in about an hour. They have some stuff to talk about. You can stay, or you can go. It doesn’t bother me.”

 

It bothers me, Stiles thinks, looking for any trace of the Cora he had met and spent the night with. Flashes of cold, harsh Cora cut away at his resolve. There isn’t even a ghost of the smile she wore.

 

Stiles resigns himself to sitting on the couch and reading news updates on his phone, waiting for the rest of the pack to arrive.

 

\--

 

It goes on this way for another few days. He tries to find her again. She acts like nothing happened. He gets frustrated. She scoffs and walks away.

 

Then they stopped waiting.

 

Stiles doesn’t even know how to put into words the week that followed. Saving the wolves, talking Scott off the ledge, and finally, losing Boyd. 

Being in the loft after that was strange. Like it was someone’s home once, but now it was a cold, empty shell that held nothing but ghosts. And yet, they couldn’t leave it. They stayed around, tried to make it seem like something so brutal hadn’t happened right there. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be for the wolves, who can probably smell the blood. They can probably still catch Boyd’s scent in the air, he thinks, and that haunts him.

Losing Boyd made Cora retreat more. When she thought he couldn’t hear, he would catch her hiccoughing and sobbing in an upstairs room, the sound carrying through the cavernous concrete house. He wanted so badly to comfort her somehow, but she hadn’t so much as looked at him since their night together.

 

\--

 

It was just the two of them in the loft. He was sprawled out on the couch, thinking. Waiting. She was pacing. She was pacing for so long that he barely realised when she stopped. 

 

“Fuck. This. Shit.” There is so much anger in her voice that Stiles feels it in his own chest. He turns his head to look at her. Her face is red, her eyes glowing amber. “I can’t just sit around when those motherfuckers are walking around like nothing happened.” She makes a move to grab her jacket from where it’s hanging on the back of the couch Stiles is, now, sitting up on.

 

“Cora. You can’t. Not alone.” He makes a move to grab her wrist, and to his surprise, she lets him.

 

“Let’s get high.”

 

He breathes out, not a sigh exactly, but a breath that aims to do the job of the words he cannot muster. “Cora…”

 

“Don’t fucking ‘Cora’ me. I’m going to get high, and go out. Come if you want.”

 

He wants to. He just doesn’t think that being inebriated would be the best thing for her right now. But she’s already walking away. He jogs after her, up to her room. She is rooting in the same dresser she had the last time, but Stiles is surprised to see her pull out a baggie with small, round, purple pills in it this time. Tapping two out on to her hand, she looks at him. Without breaking eye contact, she places one on her tongue, draws it in slowly and swallows. She offers the second pill to Stiles. God-fucking-damn-it. He snatches the pill, swallows it quickly.

 

The pill takes a lot longer to work than snorting had. He has time to kill, waiting for Cora to change out of the clothes she had been wearing to work out in. He lazes idly on the couch, waiting for her, waiting to come up, always waiting.

 

When she eventually comes downstairs, he can’t help but look at her. Her eyes swim a bit in their sockets; she’s doing that thing with her lips.

 

“Ready?”

 

He nods quickly, jumping up out of his seat. He feels a familiar sensation bubbling in his chest, ripping soft waves through him. 

 

“Where are we going, exactly? ‘Cause I don’t think I can drive while I’m this high.”

 

“I called a cab already. It’s outside.”

 

“Oh. Cool. Let’s go then.”

 

They walk outside, and despite the season, there’s a bite in the air. They jump hurriedly into the back of the waiting car, and Cora reels off an address he doesn’t know.

 

\--

 

The room is crowded, hot, and smells like stale sweat. Lights are flashing and Stiles has to squint to get his bearings. He feels high, but not as high as he had the first night. As if she could read his thoughts, Cora slips her hand into his. He could feel something round being pressed into his palm. A second pill. Cora raises her eyebrow at him. He quickly swallows the pill, trying to ignore the taste that reminds him of strong liquorice and chemicals. Cora walks away without saying anything. He tries to keep up, but the heaving crowd cuts him off from her. He spots her, eventually, stopping at the makeshift bar. Pushing through the throng, he tries to think of something to say, a way to start the conversation. When he gets to the bar, she has already bought him a drink. She slides the whiskey and coke over to him and sips on her vodka and cranberry. Stiles picks up his drink and tries not to watch her. He fails. He’s never seen her wear make-up before. It was simple, her face just looked more like her: her eyelashes defined, her cheeks highlighted, a shade slightly darker than her normal colour covering her lips.

 

“Stop it, Stiles.”

 

“Sorry. You look good.”

 

She sighs. She fights to keep her smile hidden, but Stiles sees the flash, the flash of the Cora he got to know that first night. 

 

Taking a second pill was a really good idea, he decides. Soon, much quicker than after the first pill, the waves have magnified and are crashing heavy through his chest. He wants to move. The music is not what he would choose to listen to, but right now it’s perfect.

 

“Wanna dance?” He tilts his head to the side, trying to look ineffectual and sober. 

 

“Definitely”, Cora smiles and Stiles nearly falls over. He takes the last mouthful of his drink, and turns to watch her do the same. He offers his hand, not relishing the idea of losing her in the crowd again. She slips her hand into his, gripping tight. He leads them to a space on the floor. He closes his eyes and starts to move, not really caring how he looks. Feeling the vibrations of the music is enough. He doesn’t know how long he’s been dancing before he feels arms snake around his back, holding on to his hips. Spinning around, he’s met with a small blonde girl who is pushing up against him. It feels good. Really good. He’s lost for a minute before he remembers Cora. He extracts himself from the blonde, with a bit of difficulty. Cora’s eyes are glowing, and a growl is growing just behind her lips. He quickly reaches out, pulling her in to him by her hips. Her body crashes into his. Putting his lips to her ear, he breathes out an apology, “I didn’t realise what was happening. I’m sorry.”

 

Her hips are swaying against his, her head pushed into the crook of his neck. His hands are still on her hips and he can feel her soft, warm skin where her shirt has ridden up under them. All he can think about is the feeling of her skin, how he wants to feel more of it, never stop feeling it. Her fingertips ghost across the spattering of moles on his neck and his cheek. He can tell their breathing is in sync. She’s so close. Everything feels too hot, too there, too much.

 

“Can we go outside?” he manages to breathe. She doesn’t respond, just takes his hand and starts to pull him through the crowd, not stopping until they hit the wall of cold night air. 

 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, “it was just too much. I’m too high right now. Just the music, and you and--”

 

He’s cut off by Cora slamming him against the wall, attacking his jawline with open-mouthed kisses. He gives in. 

 

“Let’s leave then,” she mouths against his pulse point.

 

Saying no crosses his mind. He knows she’ll shut down again in the morning, shut him out until she’s angry and lonely again. He knows he’s being used, but every cell in his body is screaming for her to touch them. Any semblance of free will is out the door as soon as she attacks his mouth. The last time, the kisses had been mostly languid, slow, easy. Cora now kisses him with a hunger that both scares him and pulls him in. His hand is cupping the back of her head, pulling her into what little space existed between them. Her hands are twisted in the hemline of his t-shirt. A bolt of electricity runs through his whole body when her knuckles brush against his hipbones. Her tongue is searching around his mouth, tasting the sweet-and-sour of cranberries. He tries to concentrate on one sensation, on the pressure of her lips or the graze of her knuckles, but the stimulants in his system means every feeling is magnified, heightened. When she rolls her hips up to meet his, he feels waves of pure pleasure roll through his entire being.

 

“Yes. Home. Now.”

 

Hoping the kissing won’t be interrupted for long, he reaches out his arm to hail a passing cab. Cora continues to mouth at his neck, pulling her teeth slowly across the skin between his neck and his shoulder. They pile into the cab, and Stiles detaches his mouth from hers long enough to choke out the loft address. He is painfully aware of Cora’s hands working their way up his chest underneath his shirt. He slides his own around her waist, settling on her lower back and pulling her into his lap. With her back against his chest, he can see her face in the rear-view mirror. The smirk on her face as she grinds herself back into his lap pushes a moan from his stomach, up through his throat.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cora. You’re going to kill me if we don’t get home soon.”

 

Luckily, the loft comes into view a minute later. They can’t get up to her room quick enough. They crash through the door and Stiles already has his arms around the back of Cora’s thighs, hoisting her up around his waist and slamming her into the concrete wall, finally getting to close his mouth around the olive skin of her neck. The sound that passes her lips is half moan, half sigh. He hitches her up higher, grazing her breastbone with his teeth, burying his head in the top of her cleavage, and taking a minute to breathe. She unhooks her legs and slides down the wall, so she’s on her feet.

 

“Shirt. Off.”

 

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

 

“Lie down. I want to try something.”

 

He quickly obeys. 

 

She walks to the drawer which he recognises as the drawer where she keeps her stash. She pulls out the small bag on Molly and kneels beside him. He props his head up so he can see what she’s doing. She’s measuring out a small line, right across his lightly defined abs. His breath hitches. She flicks her head around, and she smirks again, “Body lines.” She pulls her head along his stomach, inhaling the powder, her open mouth following. 

 

“Fuck, Cora.”

 

Her eyes glow gold, and then she’s on top of him, kissing him fiercely. The kisses are hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that he can barely keep up with. His hands glide along her body with their own agency, pulling her dress over her head. Flipping onto their sides, his hands are shaking as they snake towards her hips, the smooth trail from her naval to the waistband of her underwear.

 

“Are you sure?” It comes out as a gasp.

 

“If you don’t fucking touch me soon, I’m going to kill you.” He goes for broke, exploring, reacting to the way her breath quickens and the way she pushes her chest harder against him. He quickens his pace, and her golden eyes are begging him as she pulls his bottom lip into her mouth and drags her teeth along it. A sound like a forceful whimper rolls between them and Cora collapses against his chest. 

 

“Your fucking hands,” she mewls between dropping kisses across his chest. 

Stiles is sure he’s close to tipping point from the noises she was making, but as she travels lower, he’s sure he won’t last two seconds. He feels his belt slide open, his zip being lowered, the hot air touch his sensitive skin. Then darkness crosses his vision as Cora’s mouth touches him. Every little touch is enough to kill him, he’s sure. It only takes a small moan from Cora to send him over, the vibration through his hyper-sensitive body being too much. 

 

“Your fucking everything,” he whispers, too afraid of how badly his voice will crack if he speaks up.

 

She doesn’t bother fixing his pants, just flops down with her head against his chest. She cards her fingers lightly through the small patch of hair on his chest. Everything is so warm and full of prisms that it doesn’t take long for sleep to pull at him. He knows that tomorrow this will be gone. He looks down at Cora, the smile still lingering on her face, her lips puffy from kissing and weirdly, he’s totally okay with it.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a new drug, music, mood lighting, dancing, and Stiles being an evil genius.
> 
> Also, so much fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so so sorry this took so long. I've been sick/busy at work/bad at life.
> 
> BUT, it is longer than I had anticipated and it's here and it's full of fluff and Stora feels. There is no smut but you perverts got that in the last chapter, this one is all about the WAFF.
> 
> Big shout out to BeenWandering, ane, and everyone else who has commented and left kudos because this is the first thing I've written in years, guys, and it means a tonne.
> 
> The songs, should you guys want to listen to them as you go through the chapter are as follows:
> 
> I Wanna Be Adored- The Stone Roses.
> 
> Dirty Love-Kesha and Iggy Pop 
> 
> Rosario Dawson (From the RENT Motion Picture Soundtrack)-Out Tonight (I highly recommend watching the clip of the dance, so you can imagine Stiles doing the dance. It makes it 9000% more awesome)
> 
> Don't Open the Fridge-The Wonder Years.
> 
> Jesus Christ-Brand New.
> 
> \--
> 
> Given a quick beta fellow scientist, eatthecity.
> 
> \--  
> More notes at the end. Please check them out!

When the guitar eventually chimes in, he swears it actually tickles his face. He feels it on his tongue. When Cora had said that she had run out of the Molly and MDMA pills, but a friend of hers could get their hands on some mephedrone, Stiles was apprehensive for all of a minute if he was truly honest. His experiences with Cora had been nothing but positive, and while he wouldn’t ever go looking for it outside of what he did with her, he trusted her. And right now, he was so glad he did.

 

He knew that she preferred MDMA, but he feels fucking great. 

 

“You know, for so long I thought the words to this were ‘I wanna be a dog’. I always thought it was like some weird sexual fantasy thing. Really, it’s just about wanting someone to dig you.” ‘Drone definitely gave Stiles word vomit, “I definitely wouldn’t have pegged you as a Stone Roses fan, Hale.” Cora is sitting at the dresser beside her window, racking two lines, one for each of them.

 

“Derek used to listen to them all the time. I just love this song. It’s really catchy. Fuck, you’re fidgety tonight.”

 

“I’m not fidgety. I’m just happy. I feel like moving. I wonder what’s next on the ‘Hale-Altered-State-Of-Mind-Playlist’, I feel like dancing, I think.”

 

“Do you want to do your line first?” She smirks when he shakes his head, bending over and inhaling hers quickly, her eyes watering slightly at the burn. “I will never be high enough for that not to suck. Ugh.”

 

When a song he doesn’t recognise starts, he just shrugs and makes his way towards her. The song was a lot poppier than the previous five or six. As he bends down, taking the rolled-up dollar in his hand, he asks about the song.

 

“It’s called Dirty Love. It’s Iggy Pop. Iggy Pop and Kesha.”

 

He inhales his line, looking at her the whole time, one eyebrow quirked as high as it will go. “Cora Annabella Hale. Kesha? Really?”

 

“That is absolutely not my middle name, and yes. Kesha. And Iggy Pop: one of the founding fathers of punk music, without whom half the bands you listen to would not exist. He appreciates her talent. You should too.” She folds her arms, triumph evident on her face. There’s that flash of Hale again. “Besides, you said you wanted to dance. Tell me this doesn’t make you want to jump around.”

 

By now, Stiles believed he knew Cora, at least very select parts of her. But it was times like this that he was floored by how much she could still truly surprise him. Her face broke out into an almost girlish smile, her arms bending at the elbows, hands waving, hips shaking, feet leaving the floor as she jumped across the room in small hops. Small yelps left her mouth, mixed with occasional flurries of lyrics and—she would probably deny it, even to him, giggles—Cora was like he had never seen her before. She may have preferred the Molly, but Stiles definitely preferred meph, for the both of them. It was definitely less lovey. He didn’t feel the need to be physically close to her or to touch her. But he wanted to be with her. To be her friend. To tell her how much her friendship meant to him.

 

Actually, he felt the need to tell her nothing and everything.

 

Anything.

 

He wanted to talk.

 

And dance.

 

Dancing seemed awesome.

 

So he joined her.

 

He always felt like a long, awkward tangle of limbs whenever he moved but dancing in front of Cora, who moves with the agility of a born wolf and dances with the practised shapes of a grown woman, didn’t feel the least bit awkward to him. He sways and moves to the music however he felt it (because he really did feel it, tickling him and moving him and making him happy and making his friendship with Cora feel really huge in that moment and she was right, this song was awesome. Kesha was awesome). And then the song was over.

 

He knew the next song. But that didn’t mean it didn’t surprise him. He knew it from spending summers in Scott’s house. Melissa used to play it all the time. Rosario Dawson’s voice was unmistakable. Stiles and Scott used to like watching that scene of the movie, alright. 

 

“Hale, you are full of surprises.”

 

“This is the best musical of all time.”

 

“You like to listen to this when you’re high, though?”

 

“Just on ‘drone. Because 'drone makes me want to dance, too.” And then her face splits with the biggest smile Stiles has ever seen grace her gorgeous face. His breath catches in his throat because he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if he is, all of a sudden, madly in love with this girl. 

Her eyes lock on to his, and she recognises the shine, the softness there, and her eyes turn to steel. Stiles feels like a chill has run through him, and that feeling of overwhelming love is gone, he knows that she has just told ‘no’: ‘do not start to think those things. We know what this is. We are kind of friends. We enjoy each other’s company. We enjoy getting high together. This cannot be anything more.’ He swallows hard; he sucks a hard breath in through his crystal-lined nostrils, then he reaches out and grabs her hands.

 

“Ooouuuuuu-ut tonight,” he draws out the ‘O’ like a fake wolf howl, leaning close to her cheek, and she smirks. He sways his hips. He swings their arms.

 

“Got a pair of hot pants and thigh-high boots? I think I remember the dance.” He lets go of her hands. She stands back, leaning against the wall as he strips off his t-shirt. She can’t help but think to herself that this is a true mark of how much he trusts her. She remembers how squeamish he had been about taking his shirt off the first night they had had taken Molly, and he had been rolling face at that point, she laughs to herself. 

Stiles is attempting to do the splits on a pile of blankets on her floor, reaching for an imaginary glass of whiskey and hat. She runs her hand over her face, almost embarrassed for him, but not quite. She knows him better than that. He half-stumbles-half-jumps to his feet, licks his thumb and trails it down the centre of his chest, to his crotch, thrusts forward and sings, “Meow!” in time with the song. Cora is laughing as he, honest to goodness, shimmies over to her and holds out a hand to spin her into him so they can dance out the end of the song. They act out the parts of Mimi and Roger in soap opera style, with flailing hands, and big turns.

 

When the song ends, Stiles twirls the brunette around to face him and smiles, “let me play you a song me and Scott love to jump around to.”

 

A flash of skepticism.

 

“If you don’t like it, I promise to never play you another song ever again. Scout’s honour.” He holds up his four fingers of his right hand.

 

“The Scout’s Salute is three fingers, dork.”

 

“One for luck?” his cocky sideways grin slides itself across his Cupid’s bow mouth as he types something into the laptop. When the music starts, Cora doesn't know how to react. She’s not surprised. In fact, she knows it. Stiles plays it all the time. She’d guessed it was one of his favourite songs, maybe. 

 

“This is The Wonder Years, Stiles.”

 

His grin disappears. “Uh, yeah. How do you--”

 

“Because I’ve been in your car. A lot.”

“Right. But tell me you don’t just wanna just bounce to this.” He pushed himself on to the balls of his feet, hopping from foot to foot and jabbing his hands back and forth in front of him, “AND SHELVES,” he met her eye, “FULL OF,” turning his head to the side as he realises that she is muttering along, “BUKOWSKI POETRY!” Her arms are thrust in air and Stiles can’t help but laugh, wrap his arms around her waist and swing her in the air.

 

“This is the kind of song you have to shout along to with your friends.”

 

“YOU KNOW WE DON’T NEED MUCH”

 

Cora dodges away from him, and he chases her. She looks at him, and shouts back at him “THIS PLACE IS FALLING AAH-PART!”

 

“GOODBYE, SO LONG!” he is quieter, but he’s glad Derek isn’t home, nonetheless.

 

“THESE BACKYARD NIGHTS ARE FINALLY CATCHING UP TO US,” she lets him grab her by the hands again as they legitimately scream, turning red in the face.

 

He pulls her into a hug. She pushes her face against his chest, and he’s glad she’s accepting the tender moment. “No, we don’t need much,” he feels, rather than hears, her mumble the last line of the song.

 

“Can I put back on my playlist now?” she almost-whispers, leaning back on her heels while keeping her grip on his forearms, her eyes wide and shining. Stiles nods; getting the tone of the room; he presses his lips to her forehead, and his voice comes out in the same almost-whisper. 

 

“That dancing really took it out of me. I am going to gum some more meph and take myself a lie down. Would the lady like to partake? Some more illicit drugs perhaps? A rest after dancing with the best dance partner in the world? I mean, it’s a lot of pressure, and that must be, I mean, just exhausting.”

 

Cora had started a song, something mellow, just a single guitar slowly picking strong notes. She walks over to where Stiles has reclined himself on a pile of pillows underneath some hanging fairy lights. He seems entranced. The song is mesmerising. Cora lies beside him, resting her head on his stomach, her hand tracing slow circles in the hair just below his navel. She smiles to herself: if it was Molly they had been taking tonight, instead of meph, this would have driven Stiles crazy, and they probably would have ended up in some state of undress, fumbling around, sloppy and quick and all about the sensation, which she loved, but she knew it confused him. With ‘drone, that whole element was gone. There was lots of desire to talk about things, though. She wanted to talk about what LA was like. She wanted to talk about how different Derek was now, how hard he was on himself and how much it hurt her to see him like that. She wanted to talk about stupid things too—like that her favourite colour was burgundy and consequently, she loves his burgundy-red skinny trousers. Or that she orders a Scottish craft beer called Punk IPA by the crate-full because it’s kind of fruity, she’s really interested in the science of beer-brewing and it makes her feel like a badass to drink a beer called Punk. 

 

“Wow. That is a great song. Who is that?” Stiles lifts his head, if only slightly, although Cora makes no attempt to look at him.

 

“Brand New. How can you listen to Taking Back Sunday and never have listened to Brand New? Jesus, Stilinski.” Despite the scorn in her voice, she presses a light kiss to his bottom rib. “Pass me the drugs, you uncultured swine.”

 

The arm on the other side of his body slowly swings itself across his chest, his long fingers pinched together. Cora begins to lift her head just as the small plastic bag slaps against her cheek. It’s not hard, but it is clearly defiant. Her head snaps around. His almond-shaped eyes are shut and a lazy smile is playing across his face. She has to fight the smile that’s tugging at her lips.

 

“You little shit.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She thinks, idly, that the lights in her room do Stiles’s bone structure such justice and he looks downright beautiful right now. She wishes he’d open his eyes because she knows they would be the colour of caramel or whiskey, and really, he is quite an endearing kid. And that makes her irrationally angry. 

 

She snatches the bag from his hands, licks her index finger and dips into the crystalline powder, up to her knuckle. She rubs the powder into her top gum, to the right, dips her finger back in the bag, to the left, bag, bottom right, bag, bottom left, and a dab on her tongue, for luck. At some point during this process, Stiles had opened his eyes a fraction, watching her with the same measured curiosity he always maintained around the enigma that had slowly, but surely, become his friend over the past few months.

 

“That was a big one?” He tried to keep the question out of his voice, but it seeped in anyway. He knew she knew her own limits, and that she wasn’t new to this—that he was the “rookie”, but he couldn’t help feeling protective over her. There was something in her constantly defensive and deflective demeanor that seems fragile to him.

 

She shrugs her shoulders, folding the bag over and tucking it into the pocket of her jeans. He lets her body slot against his as she pushes out a sigh that sounds contented but feels heavy. He waits. They’ve learned a lot about each other by now.

 

“The bad thing about ‘drone is your clothes reek so bad of it the next day. It seeps out of your pores like nothing else.” The grimace on her face makes her look so young that it makes Stiles smile, despite the tension in the air.

 

“I can smell it on your hair,” he mumbles, turning his nose into her hair and inhaling the slightly musky, somewhat floral smell. 

 

“Ugh. Sorry.”

 

“No, I uh, I actually kind of like it. It’s weird that it smells so different to how it tastes.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Gonna tell me what you really want to talk about?” he presses his chin against her forehead in an attempt to get her to look at him.

 

She draws her head back, her eyes closed, a cheeky smirk on her face, and in a sing-song voice, mimics him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Cora. I know you. You’re going to get around to it eventually. Can we just do it now, then have more fun, instead of waiting around feeling all... tense and stuff?”

 

“Fine.” Queue the Hale Signature Eye Roll. “I saw how you looked at me earlier,” she hears him open his mouth to interrupt her, and she holds up her hand to stop him. “Hold on, just let me talk because this is only going to happen once, okay? Okay. And I get it. With the meph, and the music, and the lights, and these last few months, there are some big feelings floating around. But me and you, Stiles, we wouldn’t… we can’t… There are just too many things that make this too complicated okay? But I like you. I like you as a person. I like spending time with you. I’m glad we’re friends. You are… the biggest dork I’ve ever met, but you are also the person I’ve been the most comfortable around in the last, I don’t know how long. That has meant a lot to me. And it hasn’t just been about the drugs. Seeing you learn to trust me, with the drugs, seeing someone learn to trust me has been a big thing for me. Especially with losing Boyd and everything, having you around has just… meant so much to me. That’s why it scares me when you look at me like that. Maybe it’s just the drugs, maybe it’s not. But either way, we can’t. Because I don’t stick around. I hurt people. I break people. And after watching you learn to trust me. And after you starting to… grow closer to me. I can’t do that to you.” Her eyes are glassy. Not in the way they sometimes get when they have been up all night, rolling hard. Stiles has never seen her well up, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

 

For a long moment, all he can do is sit there, frozen, his dumb mouth hanging open. And then, because he has a deep-rooted need to make things awkward for himself, he blurts out, “Phew! I thought you were gonna say you didn’t wanna fool around tonight.” The blush that stretches from the tips of his ears right down to the middle of his chest aims to betray him, but he attempts a crooked smile anyway, and Cora chokes out a small laugh.  
“No, no. I’m just 86-ing the emotional stuff, Stilinski, not the physical.” She rolls her eyes as she shifts her body to face him, “Please, ravage me.” Her words drip sarcasm. 

 

“How could I refuse such an offer?” He pounces forward. Cora bounds out of the way and Stiles ends up flat on his face on the pile of blankets, laughing. Cora isn’t slow to take advantage of his weak position, leaping on his back and tickling his sides mercilessly, which produces a sound somewhere between howling and laughter, interspersed with pleas to ‘please cut that the fuck out’ and threats of ‘I will find some way to get revenge, Hale’.

 

She stops, letting the movements of her hands grow soft, running them up his sides a few times before rolling herself off his back.

 

“Another line?”

 

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “You gonna?”

 

“One last one.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Let me rack it. I’m finally getting good.”

 

“You should not sound so proud about that. Imagine if Choirboy McCall knew you could cut a good line.”

 

“I hate when you call him that.” He threw her his best disapproving glare from his hunched-over position at the window. “He gets high too, and it’s not like we didn’t break multiple laws. On multiple occasions. Federal ones.”

 

“He smokes pot. That you buy off a kid who has a Medical Card. Not class-A stimulant drugs that are actually any fun. And you’re seriously trying to tell me that every single one of those law-breaking-plans wasn’t the brain-child of one Stiles Stilinski?”

 

He glances up at her to inform her, “I still don’t like you calling him that. Being a good guy is what makes him so great. If I didn’t have Scott, I’d probably be a nefarious evil genius already.” Stiles has a special goofy grin for when he talks about Scott, and it is starting to spread across his face now, “He’s the Pinky to my Brain.”

 

“Cute.” 

 

“You think we’re adorable.”

 

“Whatever.” She’s betrayed by her smile, Stiles can hear the way her words are shaped by it, even though her face is hidden by the curtain of her hair. She’s bent forward, peeling her jeans off of her legs. She rights her body, pads over to the window and sits on the ‘sill. Leaning her forehead against the pane, she opens it a fraction. The cool air gusts against the two of them and they both—without realising it—lean in to it simultaneously, closing their eyes and welcoming the way it cuts the warm air that has grown stagnant and musky with the same smell as their hair and their clothes.

 

“It’s meant a lot to me too, you know. The drugs have been fun, but I know not a lot of people have seen this side of you. You are an amazing, special, wonderfully fun girl, Cora. I hope you know that. You won’t hurt me, because I know I’ve never had you, not really. But I’m glad you let me see little glimpses of what it would have been like. Also, the sex. That was cool. And that smile. Do that more often. Because it floors me every time, and people need to see it. That’s all I’m going to say.” He opens his eyes, thanking every god he has ever heard of that his voice didn’t waiver during that little speech. It hurt him to say it. He looks around at her, to find that her eyes are open, and she’s looking out the window, a sad smile on her face. So, he does what he does best: comedic relief.

 

“Aaaaand we now return to our regular scheduled programming: Drugs!” He offers his hand to her, “After you, m’lady.”

 

She turns her head and nods with a smile, then slides off of the windowsill to kneel in front of the dresser where Stiles had cut the lines.

 

Signature Hale Eyebrow Arch. “Okay, one: there are four lines here; two: they are fucking massive; and three: I want to do something first, c’mere.” 

 

“One: Yeah, may as well do one for each side? Two: if we’re calling it a night, go big or go home, it’s still only four, it’s not like we have villains to fight tomorrow or anything; and three: should I be scared?”

 

“Just get over beside me!”

 

He raises his hand to his head, and gives her a stiff salute before shuffling quickly to her side, still on his knees. 

 

“I only have pictures of you, or of me, on our nights together. And that really weird one of the two of us on the see-saw that we got that guy walking his dog to take…”

 

“Super smooth of us,” Stiles nods. Cora rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway.

 

“But I don’t have any pictures of us, together. So I wanted one.”

 

“Are you asking me to get in a selfie with you?” The look of excitement in the eyes that look back at her is so child-like that she can’t help but beam back at him.  


“Yes, Stiles. Get in a fucking selfie with me.”

 

“Fuck yeah!” he actually shouts, and his flailing limbs nearly knocks her backwards into the windowsill. “Wait, our eyes. We look like we’ve up all night doing like, all of the drugs…”

 

She can’t help it. She knows he hates the looks she’s giving him. Derek does it. Peter does it. It’s a patented Hale thing. No doubt her mother did it, although she doesn’t really remember. Stiles calls it her ‘Expletive, Please’ look (because ‘Bitch’ is derogatory towards women, and depending on your sense of humour, werewolves.)

 

“Yeah, yeah. We have technically been up a lot of the night doing copious amounts of drugs, I know. Stiles in ‘Saying-something-dumb’ shocker!”

 

“This is just for me.”

 

“Oh. Okay then. Can you send me a copy? If I promise—under punishment of being torn to tiny, tiny shreds by a very attractive, very aggressive werewolf—that I will never show it to another living soul?”

 

“I guess that’s okay. Now get your big stupid head over here.”

 

“You love my head.”

 

Cora takes three before she’s happy. Stiles doesn’t care how he looks in the picture. He thinks Cora looks beautiful in all three. He doesn’t say as much, but he says he likes them all. She sends him the last one, and he saves it into a folder with pictures he has saved for reference stuff, one he knows no one will look in. She’s happy enough with that. They settle down in front of the lines in front of them, both smiling. 

 

“Get another dollar. Let’s do them at the same time.”

 

“How romantic of you, Miss Hale.” Stiles pulls out the stiffest dollar bill he has, rolls it up and looks at Cora. “Ready when you are.” They both line up, and count down. Inhale. 

 

“Don’t wait, just go!” They quickly line up and inhale the second line in the opposite nostril. Tears stream down both of their faces.

 

“They were too big. I’m sorry. My fault.”

 

“Totally your fault. Oh my god.”

 

Stiles looks at Cora, holding her hand up to her nose, one tear running down her cheek, an exact mirror of his position, and he cracks up. Cora laughs just as hard. They both collapse back on to the blankets, knowing the stinging will subside quickly, but it will take the laughing a lot longer to die down. It always does.

 

“Go big,” Cora gasps, rolling into Stiles’s solid side. He lifts his arm; he’s not convulsing anymore, but he’s still chuckling.

 

“Or go home,” he sighs at the ceiling, and the hanging fairy lights. “I told you I was an evil genius.”

 

\--

 

They spend the next few hours just talking: about the stupid stuff, and the not-so-stupid stuff. Cora tells him about her love for Punk IPA and the colour burgundy, but not her love for his burgundy jeans. Stiles tells her that he used to be really good at hide-and-seek when he was younger and he won, literally, every single time he played his Mom or Dad. He talks about his Mom, and how he learned to cook after she died, and how much he loves it now. Cora talks about Derek, but not about her parents or Laura, or Peter. They watch the sun come up and the mist disappear. They talk about Boyd and Stiles talks a little bit about Erica, and Heather. Cora talks about what life was like in LA, and the other places she travelled to. Stiles talks about his friendship with Scott. They argue over the best flavour of Ben & Jerry’s.  
They don’t talk any more about how they feel about each other.  
They do kiss each other goodnight, a long but simple kiss.

 

\--

 

She’s gone when Stiles wakes up, but he knew she would be. Everything about the night had felt like a goodbye. Despite trying really hard, he doesn’t feel sad about it. He’ll miss her, of course, but it was something really amazing for a small amount of time and he’s strangely okay with that. 

 

He almost misses the note left on the dresser, underneath the remains of the bag of mephedrone.

 

“Nice, Cor,” he grins. It’s not like he’ll use it. Drugs are not something he’s interested in. They were something they did, an experience he shared with her. He was happy to leave it at that. 

 

He sets the bag aside and picks up the note.

 

“Stiles,

 

You may have had more than you think.

 

I’m not changing my number.

 

Give me some time.

C.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyyy, so.
> 
> That's it guys. Cora and Derek leave town, Cora goes "back" to South America, Stiles turns into a devastatingly attractive evil werefox and they just don't have time to get high together and make out at the minute. I hope you guys did enjoy the fic, however brief. I know this changes tense somewhat awkwardly for the very last paragraph, but I felt that was kind of necessary? If you disagree, let me know. I am very much so open to criticism/suggestions.
> 
> The most important note is that Kesha is awesome. I have no love for Kesha haters.
> 
> Again, this is not an advertisement for drug use. If you're going to use Class-A drugs, please educate yourself on safe practices and how to minimise risk. I'm also not condemning it. (I know you guys aren't idiots, I had to gets this knowledge from somewhere, right? (A))
> 
> Please do, however, feel free to take this as a full endorsement of Punk IPA and all other Brew Dog products because they are awesome and buying their beers and ciders supports a cool, punx craft brewery that makes delish craft brews, if you're into that.
> 
> The headcanon for Stiles winning every game of hide-and-seek (and therefore thinking he can hide behind magazines and his rucksack and get away with it) came from tumblr somewhere and I will totally find the person and credit them because that headcanon was so cute that like I couldn't not accept it.  
> EDIT: FOUND IT! It's tumblr user dreamingonlysweetly. Post is [here](http://dreamingonlysweetly.tumblr.com/post/56861884676/yes-here-it-is-i-have-this-headcanon)
> 
> I love the idea of Scott and Stiles as Pinky and the Brain because I think Scott tempers Stiles the same way Pinky does for Brain? idk.
> 
> Also, I had to put some Stiles's red pants appreciation in here somewhere.
> 
> \---
> 
> I have a Tumblr. I post a lot of dumb stuff.  
> http://tepidwaterdialogues.tumblr.com


End file.
